


The Littlest Orc

by smithereen



Category: Disney RPF, Jonas Brothers, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gratuitous Hobbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 19:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithereen/pseuds/smithereen
Summary: Lord of the Rings AU. Love is blind.





	The Littlest Orc

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ in October 2009.
> 
> I kind of started this as a dare, but then it turned into an actual thing. And I would like to apologize to Moises Arias, about whom I know nothing. Probably he is not actually an orc.

When Joe and Nick left to carry the Ring to Mount Doom, Kevin was not invited. They'd gone away in the middle of a sunny day, knapsacks on their shoulders, grim purpose in Nick's eyes, dark Wizard's tales in their ears. No one had suggested that Kevin pack up his knapsack or pull out his old walking stick. No one had asked if he wanted to go with them. He didn't really mind. The carrots were coming up, and then it would be the beets and the tobacco. Someone had to make sure everything got harvested. Someone had to feed the chickens and milk the cows. Someone had to weed the garden, and dust the mantle, and make sure the windows gleamed and the doorknob was polished. Kevin was glad to be that someone. Maybe he wasn't a hero like Nick, and maybe he'd never had a taste for adventure like Joe. But what he did was important too. When they got done saving the world, they'd be glad he'd kept the wine cellar stocked and fresh cut flowers on the table and warm bread in the oven.  
  
Most nights he smoked by the fire, warm and snug, with his thick feet propped up on the coffee table and a bit of cake (or maybe more than a bit) beside his elbow. It was cozy, but a little quiet. He kept the window open, felt the wind blow in colder and colder every day past the new curtains he'd made, and tried to think where Joe and Nick were. Wherever it was, it seemed too far away to picture it. Every time he tried, he just thought of Nick out behind the plow, Joe dancing over at The Green Dragon. He knew what they were doing was dangerous. He knew there were armies out there about to fight, or maybe already fighting, blood and swords and death. He'd heard the Wizard. But curled up in front of the fire with his toes warm and his belly full, he just couldn't believe it hard enough to make it real.   
  
*  
  
A month or two, he'd thought. Before Joe and Nick got back. Maybe three months on the outside. But summer turned into fall turned into winter and they were still gone and it was still far, far too quiet.   
  
Then the rumors started.   
  
They said there were wolves this winter. More wolves than had ever been in The Shire before. Smarter, meaner. They said there were crows, picking apart the sheep and the cows the wolves slaughtered. Kevin listened to the tales down at The Dragon, chewing on the end of his pipe anxiously. The harvest hadn't been a bad one, not the best Kevin had seen nor the worst, but it seemed like food was scarce everywhere. There was talk of rats in the grain stores. Of some kind of blight falling like a curse, like a plague.   
  
And then the news was worse. Orcs in The Shire. At first just a few spotted, moving down the roads mostly at night. Just enough that they all hoped they would be passed over for more important places. Kevin hadn't seen one yet, but he'd seen the wolves. He'd seen the crows. He'd heard the Wizard. He locked his polished doorknob and boarded up his gleaming windows.   
  
They all kept their heads down. No friendly faces in the street, no one calling to each other over the fences. The last time Kevin had tried The Dragon, it was empty as a Took's head. Kevin counted the stores in the cellar, and the days left in the winter. He thought about Joe and hoped his gloves were warm enough. He thought about Nick and hoped he had enough to eat. It felt selfish to think it, but he was glad he had a door to lock. He was glad he could hide here where it was warmer, safer. He was glad they hadn't asked him to come with them, to be brave.  
  
*  
  
The first orc Kevin ever saw looked exactly like he thought it would. Huge and sharp-toothed and cruel. Its head swiveled on its big neck, tiny yellow eyes like a hawk before it screams, before it falls with its claws out on the rabbit below. Cowering behind the bare skeletons of the trees, with his hand on Buster's reins and his heart pounding fit to burst right out of his throat Kevin felt just like a rabbit.   
  
Its armor was a little rusted at the shoulder. Its sword was big, big and dark and dirty like it had been used. Kevin didn't let himself think what could be clinging to that rough metal, thick and sticky.  
  
Kevin didn't move, didn't breathe. Those hard yellow eyes passed over him. The orc's tongue flicked out against sharp fangs like tasting the air. He waved behind him, voice rising in some harsh tongue. Kevin watched two more of them gallop to his side, their boots heavy in the snow. He trembled in the cold, behind the naked trees, hiding until long after they'd disappeared around the bend that led down toward the Brandywine.  
  
Buster breathed hot in his ear, a soft whicker. He patted the pony's neck absently; his teeth chattered though the day was mild for winter.   
  
*  
  
The fourth orc Kevin ever saw looked nothing like he thought it would. He'd stepped inside the barn, shaking snow from his curls. He'd opened up Bessie's stall, his milking bucket in his hand. He'd dropped it with a clang, backing up until his shoulder blades hit the wall.  
  
The thing rose up in the corner of the stall, hay sticking every which way from its stringy black hair. Its claws were sharp, and its eyes were yellow, and its fangs protruded sharp from its wide mouth. It growled.  
  
Kevin laughed.   
  
The thing roared at him and stamped its little booted feet and slashed at the air with its wicked little sword. Kevin covered his mouth with his hand, squeezing as hard as he could to keep the nervous giggles in, fear twisting in his chest but not hard enough to stop his laughter. It was just that the thing was so _little_. Kevin was just about average for a hobbit, and he'd bumped into enough humans at the market in Bree to know that average for a hobbit wasn't very tall at all. But this little fellow was smaller than Kevin. He had to be an orc. With a face like that. But-  
  
"Aren't you a little short for a-" Kevin started.  
  
The thing interrupted with a hiss, its grotesque face distorted with anger. One of its boots had a hole in it. Its armor was pieced together with scraps, and the way it sat too big on its shoulders made him look even smaller. "I'll gut you like a fish," he said, his voice harsh and accented. He brandished his sword.  
  
It was more like a long kitchen knife than a sword, but still probably sharp enough to split Kevin open. Kevin thought maybe he should run back to the house and lock the door behind him. Hiding seemed like a sensible idea. Or maybe running down the lane yelling for help would be an okay plan too. But Kevin kept looking at the little fellow's thin wrists, and the nervous way he shifted his weight, and the shriveled up remains of a dried out dinner behind him that looked like he'd stolen it from Farmer Maggot's trash heap. If there was one thing Kevin couldn't stand, it was to see someone hungry.   
  
"I'd, uh- Really rather you didn't gut me," Kevin said cautiously.   
  
The thing sneered at him.  
  
"I'd hate to die on an empty stomach when I have my elevinses baking in the oven all hot and fresh and bread shaped." The thing's pointed ears pricked up; the dull metal of its earrings jangling. "Eggs too," Kevin said. "I was going to fry them up thick in butter, and then the cheese. Fresh of course..." The thing's sword drooped a little in its hand, its fierce toothed face turning pinched and naked with wanting. Kevin cocked his head. "There's plenty really. I always make too much." He flashed an uncertain smile. "Used to cooking for three, you know." He cleared his throat uneasily, and waited while the thing's sword point wavered sharp in the air. He had plenty of time to remind himself that you didn't feed wolves and you didn't feed bears and you surely, surely didn't feed orcs.  
  
"Eggs," the thing finally said with an ugly bark. The sword point dug into the packed dirt in the corner of the stall. It glared at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously, chin jutting. He was such a skinny, tiny thing. It was hard to remember that his teeth were that sharp for a reason.  
  
"Eggs," Kevin agreed. "And bread." He motioned to the stall door behind him. "Did you want to-" He realized as he said it that this was a terrible mistake, that this was no time for _manners_ , but the words were already out. "-come inside?" He flinched, thinking of his locked door. Of letting this thing, this dirty dark evil killing thing, inside the lock. Even tiny evil things were still evil.   
  
But it shook its head no, earrings swinging wildly with its vehemence. It backed up into the corner of the stall like it was trying to get as far away from the idea of going inside Kevin's home as it could. It crouched down on its heels and cocked its head, its fangs bared. It smacked itself in the chest.   
  
"Moisssses," it hissed. Kevin stared, trying to figure out if that meant something in whatever evil orc language it knew, if it meant something bad like, "I'm going to wait until you turn around and then stab you in the back." It glared at him expectantly with those sharp yellow eyes and thumped at its chest again.   
  
Kevin raised his eyebrows and pointed to himself. "Kevin?" he squeaked.  
  
The thing nodded, fangs flashing as its mouth fell open, tongue lolling. It was hideous. Kevin thought maybe it was smiling.  
  
*  
  
While he was frying up eggs, Kevin thought about the baby fox he'd found down by the creek four summers ago. He'd brought it home tucked up in the corners of his coat. He'd kept it in a box under his bed and fed it milk drippings from a rag, its little weak legs moving, and its eyes shut tight, tiny mouth clamping onto Kevin's thumb, sucking hard and hungry. When Nick found it, he made Kevin take it back to the forest. He made Kevin leave it there.  
  
Kevin knew Nick was probably right. Nick was mostly always right. Baby foxes turned into grown-up foxes. And grown-up foxes snuck into the coop, stole the eggs and killed the chickens.   
  
"You can't fight nature," Nick had said.  
  
But Kevin remembered its soft fur in his hand, and its little teeth against his fingers. He remembered the way it had felt to leave it there at the edge of the trees, helpless and alone. Its name had been Basil.   
  
Kevin put an extra slice of cheese on the orc's plate.   
  
*  
  
"Listen," Kevin said, the plate of food clenched tight to his chest. "We need to make a deal. I'm giving you this-" He flashed a glimpse of the food. "And happy to," he added quickly. "But in exchange you need to go." He looked for some kind of recognition in Moises' eyes, but he was swaying from one foot to the other, his head lifted, squashed nose bobbing as he scented the air. "So, do we-" Kevin started, and then let out a sharp squeak as Moises lunged forward and snatched the plate right out of his hands.   
  
"That’s-" Kevin said breathlessly. "That's a deal then?"  
  
The thing dove face first into the food and didn't come up for air until it was all gone, until he was licking drippy egg yolk from his hands, his tongue too long, too thick. He licked at the plate too, sniffing around for more. He looked up, his nostrils flaring as he shifted his weight from one crouched leg to the other.   
  
"Meat?" he said, the word a sharp bark.  
  
Kevin flinched, eyeing the sword on the ground, the ugly knife tucked into Moises' belt, the sharp glint of his teeth. Kevin edged backward a little just in case. "I've got some salted beef in the cellar?" It turned into a question somehow at the end.  
  
"Fressssh," Moises said.   
  
Kevin shivered, taking another step back. He closed his hand over the handle of the knife he'd tucked into the pocket of his apron. Just in case. "I don't have any."  
  
Moises looked at the cow next to him, hungry speculation in his eyes. His tongue flicked out.  
  
"No," Kevin said, his fist tightening around the knife. "She's not for eating." Moises swiveled his head low on his neck, shifting his hungry gaze to Kevin. "I'm not for eating either," Kevin added quickly.   
  
"Hungry," Moises whined. The aggressive tilt of his head fell away as he plopped down in the hay crouching with his bent elbows on his bent knees, and covered his head in his hands. He looked up at Kevin and stared like he expected Kevin to do _something_.   
  
"What if-" Kevin said, thinking fast. "If I cook you up a nice chicken will you please go away?" Moises kept staring at him with unblinking yellow eyes. "You can't stay," Kevin said, trying to appeal to his reason. Probably he had some. He could talk after all. Sort of. But he just kept _staring_. "I mean they must be wondering where you are," Kevin said, desperation creeping into his voice. He froze a little as he said it, terror inching up his spine when he realized they _would be_. He thought of the ones he'd seen by the road, big and heavy with violence. Cold sweat broke out underneath his clothes. If they were looking, they'd eventually be looking _here_. And he didn't think they'd be put off by fried eggs. "They're looking for you, aren't they," he said, his voice gone flat and bloodless. God, what had he been doing _feeding_ it. Nick was always, always right.  
  
The thing finally looked away from him, looked down at the ground. He shook his head, digging a little at the hard packed earth beneath the straw with his claw.  
  
"The others," Kevin explained. "The big ones." He motioned at the air above his head with his hand. "Your brothers?"  
  
The thing stomped his feet and thumped his own chest with his fist, his mouth twisted open, teeth shining. "Cut them up," he chanted. "Tear them up. Eat them up. Kill! Kill!" Kevin's heart pounded in his chest painfully. His hand hurt from how tightly he gripped his knife. The orc's mouth twisted out of its snarl, chin wobbling a little. His voice wavered wistfully as he said, "Kill." He scuffed the toe of his worn boot against the ground, and looked up almost shyly. He shook his head again.   
  
Kevin tried to make sense of it, finally shrugging helplessly. "I don't understand," he said.  
  
"Sent away," the little fellow gruffed out. His chin jutted, defiant.   
  
"Oh," Kevin said. "I see. Too small?" he said sympathetically.  
  
Moises squared his thin shoulders and growled. He pushed up close to Kevin, rough knife in his hand. He leaned in, the blade hovering near Kevin's belly. "Big enough," he said. "To take your guts."  
  
"Oh, yes," Kevin agreed, nodding exaggeratedly. "You're quite big enough for that I think."  
  
Moises flashed his wide-toothed gaping smile again, his tongue lolling out a little. He fell back on his heels, satisfied. "Meat?" he said, his voice rising pitifully. He sounded almost like a child just then. He tucked his knife away and looked at Kevin hopefully.   
  
Oh dear.   
  
Kevin tried to think of how he was ever going to get the fellow to _leave_. He just couldn't stay in the barn all winter. Nick and Joe would be back soon, it had to be soon; and what would Nick _say_. And what if one of those Proudfeet came playing around, those boys were always sneaking into the barn stealing milk or stealing kisses from some girl or other. What if they saw him? What would people _think_?   
  
Moises crouched on the ground, looking up at Kevin, just staring with his tiny, hungry eyes.   
  
What if he got so hungry he killed something? A chicken or a pig or something bigger. Kevin looked down at him uneasily. He thought about the big iron skillet hanging up over his stove. "You like chicken?" he said.   
  
Moises' eyes gleamed.  
  
*  
  
Kevin fried the chicken up crisp and delicious, but he couldn't take pride in it. Couldn't even bring himself to taste it. He carried the sizzling hot meat out to the barn, his favorite quilted pot holders on his hands. He dumped the chicken out onto Moises' plate. Moises let out a pleased, soft growl, almost a purr. He tore at the meat with his teeth and his hands, messy and ravenous. Kevin hesitated behind him a moment before bringing the iron skillet down on top of his head as hard as he could. Moises let out a little grunt as he crashed forward into the hay.  
  
"Oh, I _am_ sorry," Kevin said. He felt shaky and anxious like the first time their father had taught him to butcher a pig, a little like he might be sick. But he moved quickly, having no idea how long before Moises came back awake. He swaddled Moises in a blanket, covering up his ugly face and his telltale armor. He touched the bump on Moises head, peered in close to make sure he was still breathing. He tried to ignore the cuts and scrapes on the little fellow's legs, the claw marks on his neck. Kevin bundled up the sword and too big helmet with him. He put some bread and dried meat and the rest of the chicken inside the helmet, wrapped in a good, clean handkerchief. The orc's sharp-clawed hands seemed very small as Kevin tucked them up close to his skinny chest. He strapped the Moises bundle to Buster's back, put on his cloak and headed for the ford. He could leave Moises across the river. It was at least half a day's travel. Surely not worth backtracking. Maybe Moises would just head back the way he'd come. Maybe he'd just go home.   
  
*  
  
It was snowing as Kevin trudged along the road, cold biting at him through his cloak. His nose and his cheeks numbed, cold sinking in deep. He could feel the thick numbness even through the tough skin of his feet. He looked at the bundle on Buster's back.   
  
It was awfully cold.  
  
The snow drifted down heavier, sticking thick and wet in Kevin's eyelashes, in his unruly curls. He thought about his warm fire, and tucked his scarf more firmly around his neck. He thought about the holes in Moises' boots. He wondered if it was hot where Moises came from. If it ever snowed. He thought about the scrapes and gouges on the little fellow's legs, and wondered what other hurts might be hidden underneath that armor. Wondered if something besides hunger had driven him into Kevin's barn.   
  
It was snowing awfully hard.   
  
"Oh, _dear_ ," Kevin said, forehead wrinkling up in vexation. He stopped Buster with a tight tug on his reins. He stood still for a long, long moment with the snow drifting down onto his shoulders. Oh, Nick would be so angry. And how could he ever feel safe with that thing, wild and blood-thirsty, only a few feet from his door? He couldn't- He _couldn't_ -  
  
A wolf howled low and long.  
  
Kevin gave Buster's reins another tug. "Come on, boy," he said, resigned. "We're going home."   
  
*  
  
Moises started moving around feebly when they were still a good twenty minutes from home. He made harsh growly noises. He said dark, angry words Kevin didn't recognize, but he was pretty sure they weren't nice words at all. Kevin had bundled him in as tight as he could, and Moises shifted around but he couldn't seem to get loose enough to put his hand on his knife or work his way out. Not yet anyway. Probably still groggy from that knock Kevin had given him.   
  
Of course Kevin would eventually have to let him out. He'd attacked him, and he hadn't gotten rid of him; and now he had an angry orc on his hands and only himself to blame. It would have been funny if Kevin weren't pretty sure he was about to have to try to fight off an angry little killing monster in about ten minutes.  
  
Kevin patted the Moises bundle gingerly. "Good boy," he said in the same voice he used when the horses were skittish. The angry words trailed off a little. Kevin patted again. "I'm really very sorry about all this," he said. He stroked the outside of the bundle where it was round like a head. He could feel Moises moving around underneath his hand. "I just got a little turned around," he said. They continued on a while, Moises's soft growling rumbling under Kevin's hand. "I hope your head isn't hurting too much," Kevin said. "I knocked myself a good one once when I fell into the Brandywine during the rainy season. Should have known better than to get on a raft Joe built. But there I landed in the water, and when I came up I bashed my noggin right into the bottom of the raft. Could have drowned if Joe hadn't fished me out. Hurt for days." He trailed off, realizing that the movement under his hand had gentled, the growling grown softer. He stroked the little bundle again. Almost home now.  
  
Moises started to struggle once they were in the barn, like he could smell it, like he knew Kevin was about to have to let him out, like he knew he was almost free. Like he was pretty angry about the whole thing. And who could blame him really.  
  
Kevin pulled the wriggling bundle off Buster's back, and watched as the tip of Moises' knife started to work its way through the blanket. He hurriedly grabbed his skillet, and stood back as Moises emerged, clawed hands first, from the blanket. His face was next, all twisted up angry with teeth.  
  
"Listen here," Kevin said, making his voice as stern as he could. He did the best he could considering he hadn't had much practice. "You stop growling right now," he snapped. Moises froze, voice cutting off in surprise. "And put down that knife," Kevin said. Moises hesitated a moment, and Kevin shook his skillet. Moises shrank back a little, his legs still tangled up in the blankets too much for him to move. "Drop it or I'll have to wallop you again." Kevin lunged forward, and Moises dropped the knife.  
  
"Now we're just going to be calm, aren't we?" Kevin said. "I know your head hurts, and I've said I'm sorry." Mosies was busying himself with the blankets, freeing himself from them completely. He crouched on wide legs, his head swaying from side to side on his neck, like a snake thinking of striking. "We can let bygones be bygones," Kevin tried. Moises inched closer to Kevin in a sideways crab scuffle. Kevin inched backwards until he hit the wall. He took a firmer grip on the skillet as Moises reached him.   
  
Moises sniffed at Kevin's legs, his little clawed hands touching at Kevin's knees. Kevin kept his skillet at the ready, but Moises hadn't turned his claws to ripping or bared his teeth for biting. He was just sniffing around, crouching in close to Kevin, pressing his cheek to Kevin's hip, taking in deep breaths of Kevin's shirt. He nuzzled in a little against Kevin's rounded belly. Kevin pushed him roughly away, ticklish and confused.   
  
"Good boy?" he said, his voice trying to waver. He patted Moises on the back of his skinny shoulder blades, careful of his tender head. Moises growled his lowest purr of a growl and patted Kevin on his belly, rising slowly up out of his crouch. His hands kneaded at Kevin's vest. He rose up on his tiptoes to lick a little at the collar of Kevin's cloak. It put his teeth altogether too close to Kevin's neck. He could feel Moises's breath snuffling a little on his skin. Kevin's lungs ached with holding his breath. And then Moises dropped back down into his crouch and sidled back over to the blanket. He fished his helmet out of the ragged mess and plopped down in the hay, tearing open Kevin's handkerchief and starting in ravenously on the chicken.   
  
Kevin watched him, bemused. He seemed as if he'd forgotten everything, crunching and tearing noisily at the food. Kevin didn't understand it. If someone had conked Kevin on the head and tried to leave him in the woods, he was pretty sure he would have been angry as a wasp's nest. And orcs were probably the angriest things Kevin had ever heard of.   
  
"Aren't you angry?" Kevin couldn't help asking, even though he was quite certain he knew better than to poke a sleeping bear.  
  
Moises looked up, meat messy in his mouth. "Angry?" he said.   
  
"About, you know-" Kevin motioned downward with the skillet in a hitting motion. "That I hurt you."  
  
Moises's lips stretched wide, his tongue long and curled at the tip. He shrugged a little. He touched the claw marks on his neck, pulled his armor away from his shoulder to show an ugly, thick winding scar. "I fight," he said. "You fight." He cocked his head and thumped his fist against his chest. It felt like- Respect.   
  
Kevin flushed bright red all the way to the tips of his ears.  
  
*  
  
Kevin wasn't sure Moises would be there the next morning when he pushed the barn door open. Even worse, he wasn't sure if Moises was secretly harboring a grudge that he might have decided to take out on some of the animals. He kept a wary eye out in case Moises decided he'd rather take it out on Kevin himself with a sneak attack or something like it.  
  
But Moises was curled up alone in the corner of one of the empty stalls, with his knees tucked up tight and his arms wrapped around them. The tattered blanket was underneath him. He was still sleeping. Kevin moved quiet as he could while he fed the other animals. He'd started milking Bessie when he heard the soft sound of movement behind him. He spun quickly around and saw Moises duck backward behind the edge of the stall. Kevin kept milking, and kept an eye on the stall door. Moises slowly peeked back in, his earrings jingling.   
  
"Good morning," Kevin said, keeping his voice as even as he could.   
  
"Meat?" Moises said hopefully.  
  
"It's winter. We can't have meat every day." Kevin shook his head firmly. "No meat today."  
  
Moises inched a little bit farther into the open stall doorway. "Bread?" he said, noise wrinkling a little.   
  
"Bread we can do."   
  
*  
  
They fell into a routine. Kevin fed Moises with the other animals in the morning. He wondered a little what he got up to by himself in the barn all day, but none of the pigs or the chickens had disappeared yet so Kevin supposed it was all right. He always seemed glad to see Kevin, sneaking in close on cautious feet like he wasn't sure whether Kevin was going to kick him or give him some food. He patted at Kevin's pockets with his little hands in case Kevin had any sugar that he hadn't given to Buster. Kevin tried to make sure there was always at least one cube left. He hovered in close, bumping against Kevin's knee while he milked the cows.   
  
Moises was no sparkling conversationalist. He knew a little bit of the Common Tongue; but he slipped into his ugly, harsh orc language when he was upset or he ran out of words. Sometimes he'd say things, whole sentences and phrases in good Westron that made Kevin think at first he knew more of the language than he really did. They were mostly all about killing, threats and such that he recited like he'd memorized them. It was quite alarming in the beginning, but after a while Kevin barely noticed. Sometimes he even caught himself threatening to spill the well pump's guts when it had frozen up especially stubbornly. Anyway, Moises seemed to get the gist most all of the time, even if occasionally Kevin did have to resort to hand gestures and a lot of pointing. And he picked things up quickly. When Kevin talked he cocked his head as if he was listening hard, stared at Kevin like he was trying to force what he said to make sense. Like if he paid close enough attention, it would all come clear to him.  
  
It was quite nice to have someone to talk to. With The Green Dragon practically closed up, and hardly anyone on the roads, it had gotten terribly, terribly quiet. Kevin had gotten into the habit of talking to the animals, talking to himself, just to fill the silence. It was nice to know someone was listening, to get something back, even if it was only a few grunted words or a complete non sequitur about slitting throats delivered with a incongruously sympathetic head bob.  
  
It seemed quieter than ever inside the house now, emptier than ever at the table, in front of the fire. He found himself spending more and more time out in the barn, taking longer with his chores, turning the hay even if it didn't really need it, and checking everyone's hooves twice over. When he finished brushing down the ponies and the cows, giving the pigs a good back scratching, he started in on Moises. He brushed the orc's stringy hair smooth, which Moises seemed to like, his eyes half closed, tongue lolling from his mouth. He washed the grime from Moises' face, which he did not like at all, his growl turning sharp with warning. He sat mostly still though, and only snapped his teeth a little.  
  
"Now if we can just get rid of this," Kevin said, thumping at the ill-fitting, rusted hulk of armor sitting on Moises shoulders. He could see where it cut into the little orc's tough skinned neck, into his skinny arms. Moises jerked back defensively, his arms hugging onto himself, his fresh-scrubbed face distorted with bared fangs. "I've got a nice brocade vest that would fit you just about right." It was Nick's vest really, but he hadn't fit into it for three summers so Kevin didn’t think he'd mind. Or at least, Kevin hoped he'd never know. Moises seemed unconvinced. "It has a lovely little pocket," Kevin said. Moises cocked his head at that, wavering. He was quite fascinated with pockets. "I bet there are some breeches too," Kevin said. "Corduroy ones."   
  
Moises hissed violently.  
  
"It's just a bunch of scraps," Kevin said, tapping the armor. "We could just-"   
  
Moises jerked backwards like he'd been bitten. "Never!" he growled.  
  
"I could at least polish it up for you," Kevin said hopefully. "You should see how my pots gleam." He reached out a hand toward one of the rusted buckles, gave it an experimental tug. Moises slashed at him savagely with his hands, sharp claws catching the edge of Kevin's wrist. Kevin pulled back, shocked, watching the thin lines of blood well up on his skin. He and Moises stared at each other for a weird stretching moment before Moises pushed past him in a snarling rush, knocking him backward into the hay. He ran for the barn door and out into the snow. It was coming down heavy again, cold air blasting in through the half opened door.  
  
"Where are you going?" Kevin called out after him into the grey. He could barely see through the falling snow to the edge of the fence. "Come back inside!" he said. But there was no answer in the thick, wet silence.  
  
*  
  
Kevin had thought it would be a relief to get rid of the little orc once and for all. Even if he wasn't as bad as you thought of when you thought of orcs, he was still a lot of trouble. Kevin had never been especially fond of trouble. But he tromped across the fields when the snow stopped, prodding at lumps and drifts with his walking stick, worry tightening up his throat. He went all the way down the frozen creek bed and back, just looking. He didn't find anything, and he decided that was a good sign. He tried to tell himself Moises was across the river by now, on his way home. He tried to tell himself it was for the best. But the quiet was so deep now it was hard to get up in the mornings.  
  
On the fifth day, Kevin realized that the pile of firewood stacked up by the door hadn't gotten any smaller lately. In fact, he thought maybe it was a little higher than it had been yesterday. He frowned. That was odd.   
  
And then one morning there was already a path beaten in the snow from his door to the barn when he stepped outside. And the next day he realized the broken slat on the pigs' stall door was fixed. He looked at it dumbly for a moment, tapping it thoughtfully with his foot to test the strength of it. It was good work, good strong wood.   
  
A little bubble of something like hope swelled up in his chest.  
  
*  
  
Kevin woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of howling. It was close, so close it felt like it was right inside his room. And there were other noises too, the crashing sounds of violence. He put on his cloak over his pajamas with trembling fingers and grabbed his walking stick from the corner of the room. When he rushed outside, the moon was bright on the snow but it took a moment to sort out the shadows moving by the sheep pen. His eyes finally turned the fluid dark into shapes, just soon enough for him to see the wolf rear up, teeth gaping, claws raking. To see Moises, looking too small, far too small, as he tumbled backward onto the ground under the weight of the beast.  
  
"Stop that!" burst raw and loud from Kevin's lips. He rushed forward with his staff, realizing too late as he reached the two of them struggling in the snow that he didn't really have any idea what to do. They turned over and over, too tangled up together to sort out. Kevin could smell the tang of blood in the air, taste it in the back of his throat. Kevin brought his staff down, but they'd already rolled again, the sheen of the wolf's hairy back, and then the dull flash of Moises' armor.   
  
"Oh, _stop_!" Kevin said.   
  
The wolf snapped at Moises, his teeth clacking sharp, his claws scrabbling. But slower. Slower. Moises grunted, and Kevin could see him shove the sword deeper as the wolf's weakening struggles scraped against his armor, caught on his skin. It slumped finally, heavy. Dead. Moises lay under it, very still. Kevin sprung into motion like ice cracking, pulling at the heavy, hairy weight of the wolf, rolling it aside. Moises blinked up at him. Kevin knelt down in the snow, stared at the thick slick of blood on the snow, on Moises' face, on his hands, on his armor.  
  
"Are you hurt?" Kevin said.  
  
Moises blinked again, his mouth stretching wide into one of his too toothy smiles. "Kevin," he said. His yellow eyes rolled up a little, and closed. Kevin stared, horrified for a long moment, his hands flying to Moises' tiny shoulders. Kevin pulled him up, and his head hung limp on his neck. Kevin scooped him into his arms. He wasn't very heavy.  
  
Kevin kicked the door to his house open wide. He lay Moises down on his soft sheets, on his clean floor, by his warm fire. He cut through the buckles on Moises' armor, watched the rusty scraps fall away. Underneath the armor he was all thin bones and wiry muscle. His scrawny chest rose and fell weakly. Kevin touched his chest where his ribs met lightly, touched where it filled, where it rose up into his fingers. Moises' skin was strange and rough and scars wound across his chest, across his back. Too dark, too thick blood oozed sluggishly from the gashes on his belly, on his arms, his legs. Kevin cleaned each one, careful as he could be. He wrapped each one in bandages he tore from his good, clean linens.   
  
He carried Moises into his bedroom, and tucked him up in his own bed, in his own blankets. Then he went outside and chopped the head off a chicken.  
  
Moises was awake when he came back, groggy and weak. Kevin held out the raw chicken like an offering.  
  
"Meat?" Kevin said.   
  
Moises looked at him with his eyes wide, looked hard like he was trying to see right into him, to understand everything.  
  
Kevin set the chicken down on the bed, unmindful of the mess, and touched Moises on the forehead. Moises' tongue flicked out thick and long, licked along the edge of Kevin's palm, the inside of his wrist.  
  
"Good boy," Kevin whispered. "You did a good job."   
  
Moises smiled his gaping wide smile, his face twisted up with teeth and tongue. It really wasn't so hideous once you got used to it.  
  
*  
  
Most nights Moises slept curled up at the foot of Kevin's bed. His softest growl sounded just like purring. His skin warmed Kevin's feet through the sheets. Sometimes his legs twitched in his sleep like he was dreaming of running.  
  
Kevin thought about Nick, and hoped he was somewhere warm. He thought about Joe, and hoped his belly was full. He thought about the war coming, and wondered how close it was creeping to The Shire, just out of sight.   
  
Kevin listened to Moises' low rumble, the soft sleepy snorts driving away the quiet. He slept easier than he had in months.   
  
end


End file.
